Lev’s escape

The surprise Lev had felt earlier when he acknowledged he might possess a conscience was now mirrored by someone shooting him. Yes, he had been threatened with it before, on one occasion someone had shot in his general direction. Normality would have had him doing the shooting, but he now knew how all those he had shot must have felt. Those professionally and recently criminally he had inflicted gun damage on. Well now he knew. It was surprising at first but now that the surprise had worn off it just hurt like a bastard.

Running was a strange thing. The sound he could hear most was the sound of his feet slapping on the pavement. His shoes to be precise. The strange slap, slap of his now very second-hand looking trainers. The left sole making a slightly different sound, it was coming away so it was more of a slight double slap. It was strange he had not noticed that before because it was bloody annoying. Although at this particular moment thinking of getting some new trainers was not a high priority.  

If anyone was asked, they would know me by that sound, he thought, they would know me from the sound of my shoes. I may look like everyone else in this street, but the retort of my feet removes my anonymity, it marked him out as different, as did the running. But Lev knew running was what had saved him on this occasion, well saved most of him in any case. By running he had created a blur of sights and a muting of sound, only his own heart beating and the slap of his shoes kept him company. The blur of passing cars flashed in his eyes, occasionally taking time to horn their displeasure in his direction, when he desired to cross their paths. The awkwardness of having a bloodied and damaged arm was causing his arms to come up unevenly in front of his body, reaching from somewhere and going nowhere, an asynchronous pumping action that Lev viewed as separate from him, as much as if his arms were separate from each other.  It was useless to notice these things. It was as if a car had crashed, the driver was dead, and the song on the radio carried on playing just for him. His own personal fugue.

A voice came from his right, a voice with a baseball cap on. He thought he knew that voice, that must be why he heard it.  He had picked it up like someone speaking Japanese at a party in his homeland. Why it had penetrated the aural fog he was existing in. It said, “What’s your hurry pal?” He could not tear himself away from that black NYC cap. Lev had seen it before. Hadn’t he? The hat, it did not live with that voice, or the other way round. It was the hat he had heard not the voice.

Running was now a dangerous thing. It was an electronic billboard advertising panic, a neon sign spelling guilt, a big flashing arrow, saying ‘here he is.’ Walking was safe. You could wear strolling like a mask. Stroll. Strollers are normal. Lev in his newly induced state, that may have been blood loss, slowly decreased his speed, and began to amble, careful to keep what remaining senses he had left on full alert. Having discounted one hat, he could not be taken by surprise by another one.

The strangest thing was there had been no warning. He was not wearing the same clothes; he had not maintained the same routine since the events of last week. Bloody hell, was it only last week? He had no choice; it had been this way for so long, he always acted carefully, he had to. He just had to. The simple rule. The one that was fundamental to survival. Usually learnt like many lessons, the hard way. Always act with care and if possible, a hint of trepidation. There had been that mistake about his change at the burger place. Perhaps he should have taken that as a sign. Half an hour before it, he would have laughed at this thought. Then your hands were an ambush. They betrayed you. It happened so quickly. Your hands, that lifted cups and held coins and waved, were suddenly a riot, a brief raging. The consequence was forever. That simple error of dropping his change and then being distracted, by fries of all things, as he ambled across to Chris. Chris, for God’s sake Chris, he was simple, but he did not deserve that. Then again nobody last week had either. Here was that conscience again. Was that why he had taken his eye off the ball when ambling across, only his instinct and training keeping him from being a bloody, holed, mess like Chris. Sorry Chris, sorry I dragged you into this.

The meaning of everything had changed. It had either no meaning or too many meanings, all of them mysterious or so camouflaged to be rendered invisible. His body he felt was a strange new place. He was hurt, he was now afraid, he knew his only option was his last one. The message that Chris had delivered by his involuntary splattering across his dashboard was abundantly clear. Lev knew he had to stay alive long enough to get to the police, that was only hope of staying alive. Even if he did not deserve it. Inside somewhere, he could almost see all the hiding places, the dark corners. Out of these places the creatures that used to run him and dictate his life were now cowering in their black burrows. They had come from nowhere originally and now they had returned where he could not find them, they were now invisible.

He had to get himself somewhere deeply shadowed, now, until the dark descended and he could creep away to admit his guilt and defeat. But there was nowhere that Lev knew about, not even this place where he had come to stand among people, as if he were a normal person. Lev could see who people thought was him in the reflection of a shop window glass. His hair was black, his eyes were brown, his mouth was open not screaming, only breathing. He hated his new weakness. He thought he could see all of his ugliness, the hideousness of soul that had marked him all his life. Until now, until he had heard that voice.  There was a green bottle in the window, with an enormous plant inside it. This plant could be his conscience coming out of the empty vessel that was his soul. The window caught a flash of a brief sun, revealing cloudy streaks where the wiping of a cloth had dried on the glass. He was tuning into the voices around him, as he knew that he would once the running had stopped. Acting like a radar for that voice or that NY cap.